Finally
by BleedtoLoveHer
Summary: All things are in common among friends. - Diogenes Laërtius


This was written for Prompts in Panem's latest round. Day 7 - Choose Your Own Adventure.

I just realized that I had uploaded this to ao3, and not to this site.

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I can't pinpoint exactly when I started wanting Peeta Mellark.

Maybe it was as long as ago as third grade when he kissed me behind the jungle gym during recess. I punched him in the stomach, as hard as my tiny, nine year old fist would allow, and ran away. I expected him to never speak to me again, but the next day when he sat beside me in the lunchroom, he slid half of his peanut butter cookie onto my tray and smiled. I remember that I was still mad, but ate the cookie anyway.

Maybe it was back when he still wore glasses and carried that bright orange Jansport backpack with the straps pulled as tightly as they could go. Those were the days that I would watch him from my bedroom window as he left his notes from class on the front porch of my house. After my dad died, I waited nearly a month before going back to school. And, for nearly a month and despite living in the opposite direction of the school, he was there, tucking his spiral notebooks underneath the corner of our ratty old doormat.

Maybe it was freshman year when I got detention for kneeing Cato Reynolds in the balls. Ms. Coin had been adamant that no, I could not just poke my head outside for a minute to let Prim know that I would be late. If I hadn't known that she'd had it out for me and was just itching to find an excuse to have me suspended, I probably would've told her to go fuck herself. Instead, I gritted my teeth and waited out the extra forty-five minutes, worrying the entire time about my ten year old sister standing in an empty schoolyard by herself. When I was finally dismissed, I hurried out the large double doors to find Peeta sitting cross-legged across from Prim, playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt.

Or maybe it was when he hit that growth spurt the summer between ninth and tenth grade. Once fall rolled around, he suddenly filled out that wrestling uniform in a way that I never knew I would appreciate. In a way that I've only grown to appreciate _more_.

At any rate, when my best friend had announced, with great certainty, that she wanted him, I'd found myself at a loss for words. Which, of course, went unnoticed since I never really have them in abundance to begin with…

I remember thinking that surely this wasn't allowed. There was some kind of 'girl code' that I'd heard about on TV and in books. Did that not really exist? I knew that there was some point in the not so distant past that I had finally confessed to having some kind of (surely misguided) crush on Peeta Mellark. And I knew that Madge had been the person that had let her mouth drop open dramatically, slapping my arm, and muttering _'no fucking way'_.

Did she assume that it had just gone away because I hadn't acted on it? Because I never mentioned it again?

That's what I convinced myself over the weeks that followed. Even though there's still a tiny voice in the back of my head though, pointing out that we've been friends for ages, and that she knows me and how I operate. That she shouldn't have expected to me to be vocal about it to begin with, and that she should have at least _fucking asked_ if I still felt the same.

Madge Undersee always gets what she wants, though. And hell, I probably blew my one and only shot back in the third grade anyway.

So I've spent the entire day, watching her practically throw herself at him and wanting to crawl into a hole. Madge had thought it would be just a great idea to invite everyone out to her family's lake house to help celebrate the first week of summer vacation. So not only is she throwing herself at Peeta Mellark, she's throwing herself at a very shirtless Peeta Mellark, in nothing but this God awful, pink and white polka dotted bikini that, regardless of being new, looks about two sizes too small.

To make matters worse, it seems like every time I've turned around, he's _right fucking there_. Sliding down the length of the old, worn bench at the picnic table until his hand accidentally brushes my bare thigh – actually blushing as he blurts out an apology. Snatching the Frisbee that Madge's cousin, Marvel, had thrown far too high out of my reach from the air behind me, and tossing it to me with a grin. Standing on the outskirts of _every single_ conversation that I've had for the last two hours, and darting his eyes away each time I catch him staring.

The kicker comes when Madge declares, only one beer in and already glassy-eyed, that chicken fights are in order. Already turning away from the group (because, really, I have no want to be stuck on some guy's shoulders with my crotch smashed up against the back of his neck), I feel a hand close around my wrist.

"Want to partner up, Katniss?"

The look on his face is so kind, and open, and hopeful that of course I stalk away without a word. I hear him behind me, rushing to keep up, but continue walking. We've made our way through the trees that separate the cove designated for the games from the area by the boat dock, and he's followed me into the water, surfacing a few feet away, before I finally turn to face him. Confusion is clear on his face, and he's opening his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he has the chance.

"What the hell are you doing, Peeta?"

"I don't know what you're talking ab –," he starts, but I'm suddenly so overcome and irritated that I can't bother with letting him continue to play dumb.

"Madge invited you today because she has a thing for you. So, what the hell are you doing following _me _around?"

There. Nice and blunt.

"That doesn't even make sense," he says, pausing to push the hair from his eyes. "Madge knows how much I like you, Katniss. There's no way —"

"Wait. _What?_"

His face turns red, and he looks down at the water as he mumbles a reply.

"I've practically been in love you since kindergarten."

"_What?_"

I must sound so stupid, but he just lifts his head and shakes it a little in disbelief. One corner of his mouth pulls up, and that stupid dimple that I love in his right cheek makes an appearance.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"I don't… I mean, no… I—," I stutter for a few seconds, stumbling from thought to thought. From the fact that Peeta Mellark _likes me_ and how knowing this makes me feel as close to _giddy_ as I've ever been, to the thought that my best friend's known this, and completely disregarded my feelings in order to go after something she wants. It's a balancing act between excitement and actual hurt.

It's also something that I can't think about at the moment because he's suddenly closer - right in front of me.

And kissing me. And lacing his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. And completely turning everything that I knew and that's inside of me upside down.

I can feel his breath falling over my lips as he pulls away, but between the heaviness of my eyelids and my vain attempt to calm my racing heart, I find myself unable to meet his stare. Even if I can't see it, I feel it with every fiber of my being. My face is already impossibly hot. Between the sun beating down from overhead, reflecting on the water that laps in the scant space between our torsos, and the heat still coming from the large palm he has cupped over the back of my neck, I doubt that I can feel any further flushed.

Of course, like everything else today, I am completely wrong.

Well, not everything. He's definitely staring at me; I was at least right about that.

There's still water dripping from his hair, and I follow the drops that fall onto his shoulders in order to distract myself from returning his gaze. Those fucking shoulders. No eighteen year old should have shoulders like that. It's not fair to… to the human race, or something. And definitely not to me, as I can't seem to stop looking at them once I've started. His skin is already starting to turn pink and it makes the little clusters of freckles stand out.

He ducks his head a little, and I know that I'm the one that's been caught staring this time.

"You're not going to hit me this time, are you?"

This is where I'm supposed to say something cute, or funny, or sexy… I know it. I've never been any of those things, though, so I just find myself shaking my head stupidly instead. I can't even lift my damn eyes from the hollow space where his collarbones meet, but the rest of my body seems to be moving with some kind of disconnect from my mind. The lake bottom is slick under my feet. Mud and moss mix together between my toes and does little to help my efforts in lessening the distance between us. I try to push up onto my tiptoes, but find myself sinking lower into the muck.

When I feel his hand, large and warm (even submerged in the cool water), anchor itself around my thigh, I finally look up at his face. Closer than it was a moment ago, but farther away than before… farther away than I'd like for it to be now. I can feel my lower lip tremble slightly as I breathe in the smell of sweat and sunscreen that's clinging to him, but I do not look away. I don't think I can.

"Katniss…"

I'm not sure which happens first – him, lifting my legs to wrap around his waist, or me, leaning forward to trace the seam of his mouth with my tongue. Less than a second into our embrace, I find that it really doesn't matter.

What matters is the way that his fingers feel, digging into the underside of my thighs and creeping higher and higher up the back of my legs. What matters is the contented sigh that he lets out and I swallow with my own tongue as I lick the roof of his mouth. What matters is the fire that I can't deny has been smoldering in my belly for years whenever we're in the same room, and the way that its flames seem to have licked their way up, spreading through my limbs, into my lungs, and past my lips as they finally move against his.

"_Finally," _I exhale into his still open mouth.

He pulls just far enough away to get a good look at my face, slipping one arm underneath me and the other tightly across my back. As muddled as my mind is at this moment, the fact that his hand is large enough to span its entire width does not escape me. If it weren't for the way that he's looking at me right now, I'm sure that it would be hard to focus on anything else.

"Finally?" He asks, one eyebrow raised as he uses the hand on my back to bring my torso more firmly to his own. I can feel the muscles in his stomach tense as I press against them, and I gasp a little, causing that ridiculously infuriating smirk that I've spent years studying to make its way to his lips.

It falters the slightest bit when I tighten my legs around his waist, shifting my weight so that my center glides over the tie of his swim trunks. I tense at the welcome friction, and his hips jump forward on what seems like their own volition. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as I slip lower, and watching the skin there turn from pink to white gives me a sense of courage that I didn't know I possessed. His heavy, almost labored exhales match my own as I run myself over where I can feel he's grown hard.

"Finally," I nod, bucking the lower half of my body against him.

And, just like that, his mouth is back on mine, and there's even less space between our bodies than I ever thought possible. For a moment, I can only concentrate on the feel of his tongue tracing over mine, and his hair tangling between my fingers, and just how fucking good all of this feels – consequences be damned. Once he realizes that we're pressed so tightly together that he no longer actually has to hold me up, his hands are added to the mix – one brushing the side of my breast and the other still planted firmly on my ass. I gasp into the spot just behind his ear when I feel his fingers slide underneath the spandex of my bathing suit bottom, kneading the bare flesh gently.

His fingertips still as he opens his eyes, slowly dragging them from where we're practically melded together below the water, up to my face. I've seen his aggravatingly blue eyes focused on me in a multitude of ways throughout the years, but never have I seen them like this - Heavy-lidded, dark, and somehow intense despite being slightly unfocused.

He doesn't even blink as he starts to drag his fingers over the curve of my ass, past my hip bone, and along the slight hollow that dips beside it, moving still farther down. His thumb leads the way and leaves what feels like a trail of fire in its wake. It affects me so many different ways that I can't decide if it feels like all of my nerve endings have been exposed, or my skin is suddenly too tight for my body. Either way, I show absolutely no signs of resistance as he draws nearer to the spot that I think I might die if he doesn't touch.

I latch my mouth onto the side of his neck to keep myself from begging.

"Katniss?"

His voice is low, and I shiver as his lips skim over the shell of my ear. I know what he's about to do, what he's about to ask, but I'm afraid that if I actually have to give an answer, I'll talk myself out of what I so obviously crave right now. So I tilt my chin up and kiss him hard before he can say another word. I tug on the wet strands of his hair, arch my body farther into his, and leave no room for interpretation as to exactly what I want from him. What I've wanted from him for so long.

He stumbles backward the slightest bit, and the combination of the water swirling around us at the movement and the sensation of finally having the tips of his fingers reach their destination is enough to make me cry out. The sound is muffled by the bottom lip that I've managed to suck into my mouth. I can feel the corners of that lip turn up into a smile, and I release it from between my teeth before pressing a kiss to it. It's all that I even think to do right now… aside from grinding myself against his hand with a sense of urgency that borders on embarrassing.

There are murmurs of expletives leaving both of our mouths, brushing against each other and mingling in the breath between us when his thumb finds my clit. He circles the swollen flesh slowly at first, the gentle touch almost unsure, before building a speed and rhythm that makes me nearly delirious with want. So much so that I don't even notice the hand that I've snaked down his torso to yank at the tie of his swim trunks until I'm releasing his name in a strangled sigh as I come moments later.

I sag against him, boneless and dizzy. Hell, even my fingers feel jellied as they try their best to undo the double knotted string and, for a fleeting second, I'm not sure that I'll be able to do much of anything with such little control over my body. But I have thought about how it would feel to have my hands on Peeta Mellark for too damn long to let anything stand in my way now.

I don't give him time to question what's going on as I pry my legs from his waist. I can feel the protest coming in the tension of his muscles, but I silence it with my teeth scraping over the strong, stubbled line of his jaw. My lips pass over the column of his neck, down over his shoulders, and through the soft patch of fine hair that covers his chest. I feel him relax more and more with each open mouth kiss I press to his skin, and I smile.

Letting my mouth linger just left of his heart, I curl my fingers into the spot right above its steady beating, and I hope that he understands. I'm no good at any of this, but especially bad at _feelings _and any attempt at actually conveying them. I don't have his way with words, or the innate ability to just make people feel at ease around me. I want him to understand the importance of this moment for me, but my head is so all over the place and my thoughts are swimming through my mind without direction or design that I need for my actions to be enough.

So I follow his example.

Looking up at him through my lashes, I swallow hard as my fingers dip into the waistband of his shorts. He lets out a low hiss as my palm passes over the head of his cock, and then practically melts against me the second that I have him firmly in my grip. His head drops to my shoulder and his lips attack the skin there. The damp heat that his breath leaves behind as he briefly pulls away to mumble my name sends a jolt right through me. Soon though, I'm so focused on the weight and feel of him in my hand, along with the way that his hips jerk upward to meet my movements, that all I can hear is my pulse pounding inside my head.

Soon enough, his lips are finding their way up, painting kisses along my throat and back to my lips. Whether or not I'm responsive, I can't tell you. Between the way that he pulses in my hand, his teeth worrying at my lower lip, and the firm grip that he has on my hips, I'm nearly overwhelmed. I guess if I had my choice of things to be thwarted by, though…

Peeta's thumbs dig harder into the flesh just beside my hipbones, and his lips fall from mine. His breath falls in short gasps against my neck and, I'm starting to think that I've done something wrong. It's not like I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing, so I slow my movements in an attempt to correct whatever I need to. My thumb slips over the head of his dick without thought, though, and I realize that I must not be doing such a bad job after all. The muscles in his back and stomach tense, and I look down just in time to watch as he comes.

He lifts his head from the spot on against my neck. I shiver the slightest bit as I can feel droplets of water that his hair left behind slide down between my shoulder blades. He's staring down at me, his eyes still dark, and, for a split second, I'm worried that he's going to push me away for some reason. In disgust, or disbelief that he actually let someone like me touch him. But then his hands are wrapped tightly around me, high on my ribcage, thumbs purposely brushing over my hardened nipples through the fabric of my swimsuit, and his lips are once again slanting over mine.

When we break away, I'm breathless. And horrified when I realize that I still have my hand wrapped around his now softening penis. I pull my hand back as I look up at him, sure that all of the blood in my body is now rushing to my face.

"Katniss, I…" He trails off, biting at his bottom lip and seeming unlike the normally so sure of himself boy that I'm used to. He lifts a hand to my face and my heart feels like it stutters inside my chest when he gives me a shy smile.

I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn't have to say anything. Maybe even to tell him just to kiss me again.

"Peeta?"

But that's not my voice.

"Shit," I mutter.

_Shit, shit, shit._

There's a look of confusion on his face as I nearly fall over backwards trying to push myself off his chest. I duck my head under quickly, hoping that the water will help rid the flush that's taken over my face. Once I'm back above the surface, I cut my eyes to the side in a way that I'm sure is a lot more conspicuous than I want it to be, silently praying that he understands.

Madge rounds the corner and walks out onto the dock barely two seconds later. Her eyes light up as soon as she sees Peeta.

Meanwhile, a misguided sense of guilt replaces the euphoria of what transpired just moments ago. And while Madge is probably trying to figure out the easiest way to jump in without having to let go of her beer, I feel sick to my stomach as I try to decide the easiest way to fucking drown myself.


End file.
